


Henry Trolls Captain Swan

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anti Hook, Crack, Henry is Fantasically Adolescent, anti captain swan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: A collection of Canon Divergence one shots, in which Henry cannot contain his disgust for the grossness that is CS. If you're a CSer, and you're offended, simple solution: don't read it. But it's tagged properly, because this IS Captain Swan--but Anti-Captain Swan. I gave you fair warning.I tried to tag "Anti-Captain Swan", but it literally only let me add that as an additional tag. Plus, I have this description emphasizing how Anti CS it is. i did my part, guys. By the way, the influx of comments I get telling me I'm so horrible for writing anything against CS...I mean, wow. It's funny, but it's also a little disturbing how seriously some of you take this.





	1. Chapter 1

It was by far the most uncomfortable family dinner Henry had ever been to. The awkward silence was only broken by the sounds of forks clattering against plates and glasses being picked up. Regina and Robin seemed to be secretly enjoying everyone else’s discomfort, hiding smiles behind their napkins. Snow sat very rigidly in her seat, refusing to look up; David couldn’t _stop_ looking up, every so often glancing down the table as if he was still struggling to understand why Captain Hook was seated at his dinner table next to his daughter.

Henry, for his part, was doing his best to make it as uncomfortable as he possibly could. All night, he had been staring at Hook across the table, stabbing his fork deliberately into his meatloaf; ripping his knife through it with unnecessary enthusiasm. Hook’s eyes followed Henry’s movements, hearing the unspoken threats.

“So,” David said, attempting to loosen the tension, “how’s school going, Henry?”

“It’s fine. We learned about chlamydia today,” Henry said, giving Hook a sarcastic smile. Regina and Robin choked on their food; Emma gave him a warning look. 

“Henry, that’s not dinner-table-talk,” Snow said quietly.

“So, Hook, how long have you been a male prostitute?”

 _“Henry!_ ” Emma gasped as Regina and Robin spit their drinks out and began coughing violently. David’s jaw unhinged; Snow looked up for the first time all evening to gape at Henry. Hook stared at Henry with wide, disbelieving eyes, blinking rapidly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, how long have you been a male prostitute?” he repeated, speaking more loudly. 

“Henry, that is _inappropriate!_ ” Emma hissed. Henry flicked his eyes at her blandly before going back to Hook.

“I’m sorry. Do you prefer the term ‘male escort’?”

Robin snorted as Regina hid her face in his shoulder. David turned red, mumbling something about “the green beans are exquisite, Snow”. Hook shot Emma a sideways glance.

“Uh…no. No, I don’t actually,” he said awkwardly. 

“Ah!” Henry raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Well, that’s all right, I know plenty of euphemisms. Let’s see… ‘gentleman of the night’? That’s a classy one. ‘Exotic dancer’? Always a charmer. Oh—and my personal favorite—” he cleared his throat—“ _how long have you been working to put yourself through ‘medical school’?_ ”

“Oh, my God,” David said loudly, dropping his fork. Henry smirked, dropping his eyes to his plate. He had successfully ruined dinner. All was well.

 


	2. Chapter 2

There was a knock at the door.

It was the sound Henry had been dreading. He looked up slowly, glaring at the door. He knew he should get up and open it, but… oh, Henry really didn’t want to do that. 

There was another series of insistent knocks.

“Henry, could you get that?” Emma called from upstairs. 

Henry dropped his pencil, abandoning his homework. He breathed in deeply, his fists swinging at his sides as he walked purposefully to the door, jaw tensed with quiet fury.

He turned the handle and opened the door, narrowing his eyes in disdain at the tall figure  outside.

“Hey, Henry,” Hook smiled, holding a bouquet of flowers. Henry flicked his eyes to the flowers and back at Hook.

“May I help you?” he said dryly.

Hook’s smile faded some. “I’m just… picking up your mum.”

“Are you?” Henry’s eyebrows jumped.

“Ye-e-es,” Hook said uncertainly. He seemed to be waiting for Henry to step aside and invite him in, but Henry had no intention of doing that. 

He offered Hook a sarcastic smile. “Well, good luck with that,” he said, and slammed the door shut. He had spun on his heel, preparing to walk back, when Hook knocked on the door again. 

Henry raised his eyes to the ceiling and, with a sigh, turned back and opened the door. “Yes?” he said with raised eyebrows, as if he had not just seen Hook ten seconds earlier.

Hook frowned at him. “Can I come in?” he asked, gesturing inside.

Henry frowned back. “Why?” 

“Because,” Hook said, smiling through clenched teeth. “I’ve got a date with your mum tonight.”

Henry nodded slowly. “Is it in the loft?”

Hook’s smile twitched. “I’m sorry?”

“Is your date taking place in the loft?” Henry enunciated, as if Hook were mentally handicapped. Hook raised an eyebrow before shaking his head slowly.

“No…”

“Excellent.” Henry slammed the door in his face for the second time. 

“Henry?” Emma came down the stairs, adjusting her necklace. She looked around quizzically, a slight frown etched on her face. “Where’s Killian?”

“Who?” Henry scoffed, walking back to his homework. Emma gave him a pained look.

“You _know_ who,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Where is he? You didn’t scare him off, did you?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Henry reassured her, smiling pleasantly. “He’s probably just finishing up with his last client.”

Emma shut her eyes exasperatedly. “ _Henry,_ ” she said. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t imply he was a male prostitute anymore.”

“I’ll stop implying it when _he_ stops implying it,” Henry said absently, picking up his pencil.

“Emma?” Hook’s muffled voice came from outside. Emma slowly turned her head, slitting her eyes at Henry, who smiled back innocently. She gave him a withering look, and crossed the room to open the door.

“Hey,” she said, and Henry curled back his lip in disgust, keeping his head down. “Where were you?”

“I’ve been waiting outside for ten minutes, but your boy seemed rather reluctant to let me in,” Hook grumbled, coming further into the loft. He handed her the flowers. “These are for you, love.”

Henry’s stomach lurched at the endearment, making him gag. “Oh, _God.”_ Hook and Emma regarded him disapprovingly.

“I’ll be ready in a minute, I just need to find my purse,” Emma promised, and ran lightly back up the steps. 

Hook settled himself on the couch, blowing out a breath. He tapped his fingers on the table, the only sound other than Henry’s scribbling that broke the awkward silence. 

“So, lad,” Hook said finally. Henry raised his eyes, fixing a bored expression on his face.

“Yeah?” 

Hook shrugged, looking uncomfortable at the effort of making small talk. “How are your studies?”

Henry stared at him unblinkingly. “Do you have a pimp, or are you more of a freelance hooker?”

Hook narrowed his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“Pimp,” Henry repeated, speaking clearly. “Do you have one?”

“I don’t know what that is. What exactly are you asking me?” Hook asked, leaning forward with a frown.

“Do you, or do you not, exchange sexual favors for money?”

“ _Henry!”_

He whirled around to see his white-faced mother on the steps, her mouth open in horror.

“What?” he shrugged, spreading his arms. “I’m taking an interest.”

“What is wrong with you?” she whispered, numbly climbing down the steps. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Mom, I’m _concerned_ ,” Henry said in an injured tone. “You don’t know where he’s been, I don’t want you to catch any exotic diseases.”

“Oh, my God,” Emma said, hiding her eyes, looking positively mortified. “Killian, maybe we should just… call it a night,” she said in a muffled tone.

“Call it a night?” he repeated incredulously. “We haven’t even left yet.”

Emma raised her head out of her hands, looking flushed. “I think I need to talk to Henry,” she said shakily. “And I just…I feel like it’s going to be really awkward if we try to go out tonight.”

Henry beamed, watching Hook swallow his irritation and nod, reveling in his displeasure.

“Another time, then,” he said in a low voice.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Henry said cheerfully, walking him to the door. “I’m rather gifted at making things awkward.” 

And promptly slammed the door in his face for the third time that night. Ah, sweet victory.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Why are we here?” Henry asked in a bored voice. 

He was standing with Hook at the docks, the cold wind ruffling their hair as they watched the gentle waves rocking the boats tied along the wooden posts. It was quite possibly the dullest moment Henry had ever endured. 

“I’m taking you sailing,” Hook said brightly. Henry closed his eyes.

“Super,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s seems like a valuable use of my time.”

“I think you’d enjoy it,” Hook said, looking across the water with a vacant expression. “You’ve got the sea in your blood, boy. I can see it in your eyes. You’re a traveler, a wanderer, a pirate at heart…”

Henry rolled his eyes as Hook droned on, snapping his headphones over his ears. Hook's still talking with a dreamy look on his face, clearly in the throes of another one of his theatrical speeches. Henry flipped through his music, barely noticing as Hook led him along the wooden planks and onto a small boat, bobbing in the water. 

Hook attempted to engage him in conversation as he bustled around, preparing them for their little adventure; Henry decided that Florence and the Machine was far more interesting than Hook was, so he just watched the pirate with half-lidded eyes, rolling them every so often so Hook would understand how nauseatingly dull he was. 

“Can we go back now?” he asked after about two minutes, tugging off his headphones.

The smile faded off Hook’s face. “Henry, we’ve barely started.”

“This is boring.”

“You haven’t even given it a chance.”

Henry looked around: the dock was visible, though the mist concealed it rather well. It was chilly, and the waves rocked the boat uncomfortably. The air smelled fishy and salty and cold—probably what Misery would smell like if it had a smell.

Henry turned back to Hook. “This is _boring,_ ” he repeated. “Why are we even doing this?”

Hook shrugged. “I think it would be good for us to spend some time together.”

 _Oh, for the love of God. “_ Why?” he asked, curling his lip disdainfully 

“Because…” Hook looked mildly exasperated. “Because I do, Henry. Okay?”

“Because you think it’ll impress my mom,” Henry said shrewdly. 

“It wouldn’t make her unhappy, I suppose,” Hook said carefully.

“So you took me out here in the middle of nowhere to impress my mom?”

“You could say that.”

“In the middle of nowhere…”

Hook frowned. “Right…?”

Henry smiled maliciously. “With no witnesses.”

Hook looked at him for a long time, before subtly scooting back. “Right…”

“Well…” Henry laughed lightly, picking up one of the paddles. “Anything could happen.” 

He examined the paddle thoughtfully for a moment, then gave it a practice swing. Hook watched him uneasily, scooting back further.

“You know…” Henry tilted his head, considering the paddle. “At the very back of your head, located just above your brainstem, lies the medulla.” He looked up at Hook, raising his eyebrows. “Do you know what the medulla is?”

Hook shook his head, still eyeing him warily. Henry chuckled, twirling the paddle between his fingers. 

“The medulla,” he said in a clear voice, “is the part of your brain that control vital non-voluntary functions. Digestion… heart rate… _breathing._ ” He smiled at Hook poisonously. “It’s impossible to survive without it.”

Hook licked his lips nervously. “Right,” he said in a raspier voice than normal. “Lucky I’m a survivor, than.”

“Oh, yes, quite lucky,” Henry said pleasantly. “We wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to you. I myself would be devastated.”

Hook narrowed his eyes, looking at Henry suspiciously. “Are you … _threatening_ me?”

Henry widened his eyes. “Well, what gave you a silly idea like that?” he said innocently. 

Hook stared at him for a long time; Henry stared back, a little smile playing around his face as he turned the paddle over in his hands. Hook’s eyes flickered to the paddle, then back up at Henry.

“I’m taking you home.”

“Oh, already?” Henry snapped his fingers. “Damn. And I was _so_ looking forward to bonding with you…”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little more melancholy than the others.  
> I just reeeeaaaallllly miss Neal

Graveyards shouldn't look this peaceful.

Henry frowned, looking out over the autumn-tinged field. There were headstones scattered across it, flowers in varying states of decay resting beside them. An odd way to honor someone, Henry reflected, making his usual path toward the grave under the tree: holding their physical remains six feet below ground, covered with dirt and worms and a hunk of engraved rock on top; then tossing a couple dying flowers on the grass for commemoration?

“Figured you wouldn't mind if I skipped the flowers this time, Dad,” Henry said, coming to a stop as he reached the familiar headstone. He’d been visiting more often—ever since _Killian_ moved in with Emma. He’d thought things were bad when the pirate whore had invaded the loft, but now that he was literally sharing a _house_ with the bastard? Henry shuddered, remembering the first time he’d woken up to Captain Chlamydia drinking coffee in the kitchen. 

“It’s getting worse,” he exhaled, folding his legs as he took a seat on the grass. He yanked out a few stems, examining the stringy roots as he mused over the latest disastrous turn his life had taken.

“The other day, Emma let him use the stove. And isn't it fucking hilarious how he still doesn't understand modern inventions?” Henry smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Precious, right? I mean, the fire department didn't think it was as cute as Emma did, but hey…” He shrugged. “Whatcha gonna do?”

The wind rustled his hair, lifting the ends in a cool breeze. Henry drew his jacket a little tighter, and went back to picking at the grass, pulling up a few more stems and twisting them between his fingers. 

“Does fantasizing about painful ways to kill him count as premeditated murder?” he wondered aloud. Sometimes, his imagination took some dark turns, and fantasies often bled into realistic considerations, complete with escape plans and legal defenses. “I vaguely threatened him with a paddle-induced head injury once— but actually, I really think I’m onto something with lining the rim of of his rum flask with arsenic and slowly poisoning him over time. Problem is, I think that would be detectable with an autopsy…But I’m pretty sure I could I could persuade the medical examiner to ignore that.”

It wouldn't be a problem. Nobody in this town really cared for Hook— _Killian,_ whatever—and Henry couldn't see anyone being too upset by his passing. _Maybe_ Emma…But she’d get over it. If she could get over Neal, she could get over Captain Hack Sparrow. 

“He’s fucking creepy,” Henry said, grimacing as he tossed the mutilated grass down. “He’s always _leering_ at Emma, he doesn't even care if anyone else is in the room! Like— _I’m_ in the room, I care, you know? I don’t need to see that. _Nobody_ needs to see that, but me especially. And then— _then,_ if that wasn't enough— I’m subjected to this nauseating display of what qualifies as _affection—_ looks more like he’s mauling her face, if you ask me—and I have to flee the room. _Flee,_ Dad—I have to literally _flee.”_

Every moment, every turn around the corner, was a potential ambush of vomit-inducing P.D.A. between Emma and Hook. It was a disgusting display, seemingly designed to nauseate any onlookers—perhaps to discourage their intrusion, in which case it was almost ingenuous. Henry tilted his head, considering the possibility.

No…. They weren't that smart.

A car drove by, the lazy hum of the motor briefly disturbing his train of thought. He followed the small black car with his eyes, watching it wind its way down the road. 

“So, Emma had a talk with me,” Henry said, his eyes still on the car. “Apparently, _my attitude_ is out if control. I’m not _respecting_ Killian.” He smiled derisively, shaking his head. “Far be it from me to pass judgment on Saint Killian—a self-proclaimed pirate who wears rings as trophies from the men he murdered. I suppose I’ll have to repent my sins and go worship at the shrine…bring some rum and Revlon as tribute. Or maybe I can just get away with listening to his free-lance poetry about the ocean and his own nobility.”

God…how many times had Henry been forced to sit through one of Hook’s starry-eyed raptures about the ocean? The amount of fucks he gave for “ _the saltwater waves”_ and the sea’s “ _fierce beauty”…_

“I don’t think I have it in me to make it through another poetry reading,” he sighed, wearily covering his hands over his eyes. “He just goes _on_ and _on_ and _on…_ Seriously _, h_ ow much would I have to bribe a medical examiner to ignore arsenic traces?”

Heroes didn't kill (or so the slogan went); yet Henry was fairly confident most, if not _all_ , of Storybrooke would call him a hero for doing away with the pirate. The morality was questionable; the illegality definite; but would anyone _really mind?_

Henry let out a slow breath, sliding his hands down his face. “There’s always burial at sea,” he said. “Wouldn’t have to worry about the autopsy, and we all know how _Killian_ feels about the sea…I’d probably be honoring his last wishes.” He toyed with the idea for a minute, trying to envision himself disposing of Hook’s rum-soaked corpse. “Something to think about, I guess.”

If it was anyone else, he might have morally struggled with considering how to get away with their murder so deeply. But this was a guy who’d spent the past two hundred years as a fucking _pirate—_ synonyms: murderer, kidnapper, pillager, ravager, plunderer, and Grade-A Dickhead. Not really deserving of a moral struggle, Henry decided as he stood up, brushing grass of his knees.    

“All right, I’m going to head back,” he exhaled. “I’ve got homework, and I want to be in my room before Emma gets home from work.” It was harder for her to compel him to spend time with the man-whore, if he was locked in his room with his headphones in. If he was going to avoid _actually_ killing Hook, it was best for all parties involved to avoid each.

He brushed his fingers over the headstone, smiling faintly. “Bye, Dad,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few days. With flowers, if you want.”

He’d be back tomorrow. Henry knew the second he dropped his hand, he’d be back tomorrow. This was the only place that lifted the loneliness, the only place where he didn't miss Neal _quite_ as much. 

Memories and graveyard conversations kept the dead alive, and even if it was only for an hour or so at a time;…Well—it wasn't the relationship with his father that he wanted—that he _deserved—_ but it was better than nothing.


End file.
